


The Atlantis Xmas Party

by pir8fancier



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8945818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pir8fancier/pseuds/pir8fancier
Summary: Christmas fluff with the boys.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For sgamadison.

John hated parties. It wasn’t something he broadcasted, but in general, he didn’t like many people. Yeah, he camouflaged that fact behind an easy smile, but he was as much of a curmudgeon as Rodney; he just hid it better. John was of the “more flies with honey” school of thought. While Rodney really didn’t give a rat’s ass about the flies as long as they kept their stupid mouths shut and didn’t touch things they weren’t supposed to and he had the right to tell them just how stupid they were because they were flies. Stupid flies. Although this argument was circular in the way that Rodney’s arguments regarding stupidity often were, John couldn’t say much in defense of stupid flies because only last week they’d lost two Marines because someone touched a lever they weren’t supposed to touch, and it set off a series of explosions that left two dead and six wounded.

So parties. He understood that parties were basically team building exercises with booze. He was on-board with team building, but he preferred his team building at the range so that he could count on a Marine hauling his butt out of the fire in the case of a sniper attack. _Not_ finding out two rum-and-cokes later that Pvt. Marshall had a kink about going commando. And once one person does a stupid thing, it tends to give everyone else the license to do stupid things, like drink too much and then start grabbing people’s junk. When someone you want grabs your junk, you like it. Otherwise, not so much.

So parties. Thumbs down. Christmas parties? Double thumbs down because when you're in the military, ninety-nine percent of the time you're _not_ spending Christmas with your family. Of course for John, that had always been a bonus, but still. With all that fake cheer there was a lot of real sadness, and no amount of Christmas carols through the P.A. system was going to change that. Given that he was CMO, he had to attend these meetings, plus, if he didn't he'd end up in charge of a bunch of stupid ideas—like lots of mistletoe and a kissing booth—while wearing a fake Santa beard that itched.

He tried to keep the ho-ho-ho factor limited to a Christmas tree, red and green balloons, and a bunch of crepe paper. When someone suggested a kissing booth, he was about to veto that idea in the strongest language possible, but then that blowhard Chalmers in Botany said, “Like who would want to kiss a bunch of astrophysicists.” John’s teeth clenched at that for some reason, and he found himself not only supporting one hundred percent the concept of kissing booths, but insisting that proceeds go to McKenzie’s family, who'd lost his house in the Tennessee fire. To up the contribution factor, they made it a contest to see which department had the greatest “take.”

John thought this whole idea would incite Rodney into one of his epic rants, exclamation marks punctuating every sentence. “This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard of! What a waste of our time! How dare you appropriate the world’s most intelligent scientists for a stupid parlor game! I have a good mind to complain to Cheyenne about the waste of….” And on and on.

Nope, didn’t happen. Rodney rubbed his hands in glee and then said to the room at large. “I like McKenzie. One of the few Marines I've met in my entire career that has a brain. We have this in the bag. Scientists for the win.”

John wasn’t the only one whose eyes hit the wall at that.

Teyla was in charge of the punch, which meant that it wasn’t _all_ alcohol, and in the interest of privacy, they set up the kissing booths with little curtains that closed so that you could just throw a few bucks in a basket and save yourself from kissing people you didn’t like. Like Chalmers.

John did his thirty minutes with good grace, keeping the kissing to a minimum, no tongue allowed. He supposed he should have stipulated some rules, but that was pretty hard to do and a bunch of liquored up partiers would have ignored him anyway. He opted to volunteer for the first shift because anything beyond that and those with a few rum and cokes under their belts would be tongue happy and junk happy. Plus he kept the Santa beard on, which kept the hornier types from taking too many liberties.

Every now and then he’d scoop up whatever proceeds were to be had and saw with some satisfaction that the McKenzie kids would at least have a decent Xmas. As the evening wore on, the line at the Science Department booth kept getting longer and longer.

Huh.

And then longer. And the donations kept getting bigger and bigger. Pretty soon there wasn’t a single line at any of the booths, EVEN THE ONE WITH RONON. Everyone was at the science department booth. Okay, what was Rodney doing? Handing out dollar bills?

Just about the point when the dancing was less dancing and more like staggering to the beat, John decided it was time to shut things down. He grabbed the microphone.

“Okay, everyone. Science Department killed this thing. They alone raised more than $500 for the McKenzie family. Let’s give it up for the Science Department!”

There was raucous applause and Rodney emerged from the booth with the worst case of chapped lips that John had ever laid eyes on. Had he been in the booth the entire time?

Ten minutes after John’s announcement, the dance floor had emptied out. Most people had paired off if they were going to pair off, and those who hadn’t paired off with someone were lurching for the door as well. Hopefully they’d make it to their rooms before hurling. Atlantis frowned on people vomiting in her hallways.

They were standing in the corner, nursing beers, probably the only two people in all of Atlantis who weren’t blind drunk, with the exception of Teyla of course, who’d left the party on the early side and Ronon, who could down an entire fifth of whiskey with no effect whatsoever.

“God, my mouth is killing me. I must have kissed two hundred people.”

At John’s raised eyebrow, Rodney qualified. “Some people came back for thirds.”

John raised his other eyebrow.

“I’m a god at kissing, Sheppard. Little known fact. Well, except in Russia, where I was a kissing machine. There wasn’t anything else to do, and it was so cold that you didn’t dare take off your clothes even to fuck because critical parts might become frostbit and fall off. Yes, it was a real concern.”

“Kissing machine, huh?” John tried not to let the skepticism in his voice be _too_ obvious.

“The best. Bet I’m better than you.” Rodney had that smug little smirk that he got when the math converged.

John rolled his eyes. Because he’s was a pretty stand-up kisser. Not that he advertised it or anything, but he’d never had any complaints and a _lot_ of compliments.

Rodney did that chin thrust thing. “Hundred bucks says I’m a better kisser than you.”

Even as he said, “Don’t have a hundred bucks,” John couldn’t help but stare at Rodney’s mouth. It was still a little red, but he’d been using the frosty beer bottle as a cold pack and his mouth was less raw looking. And that slant was so tantalizing. When had Rodney’s mouth become like, whoa?

“You get paid next week.” Then Rodney went in for the kill. “Coward.”

No one, as in _no one_ , called John Sheppard a coward and lived to see the next day’s dawn.

John grabbed Rodney by the wrist and dragged him back to the kissing booth. Yanking the curtains closed, he brought their bodies together and laid one on Rodney. It was gentle mouthing at first because, well, Rodney’s lips were really chapped, but then he ramped it up because, man, this was six different kinds of awesome, plus he had something to prove, but suddenly Rodney took over and if him kissing Rodney was awesome, Rodney kissing him was awesome with nuclear explosions going off around them, and then mutual junk grabbing was happening and then the lights went out and then, wow. Ho. Ho. Ho.

They stood there panting, still plastered against each other, the warmth of Rodney’s breath against his collarbone.

What the fuck just happened? John could fight this. He could push Rodney away and pretend it hadn’t happened. Of course he didn’t know what had happened but _something_ had. Something big. Maybe something wonderful. He could pull away and the wonderful would be over and replaced with hell of awkward. But he didn’t. He pulled back and felt Rodney tense up, but he was only looking for a better angle. He pressed his forehead against Rodney’s and said in a low voice: “I’ll pay you next week.”

“Second one's on the house.”

*************************

The end.


End file.
